


The Glittering Christmas Job

by Arithanas



Series: A Huckleberry Above My Persimmon [3]
Category: Leverage
Genre: Case Fic, Christmas, Eliot has a some issues to dealt with (Luckily Hardison is around for him), Established Relationship, European Adventure, Gratuitous Foreign Languages, Internalized Homophobia, Jealousy, M/M, Post-Canon, christmas markets, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:14:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21995830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: Leverage Team should return a missing college student home for Christmas, cutting short Eliot's European winter vacation. Nothing they couldn't manage.
Relationships: Mr. Quinn/Eliot Spencer
Series: A Huckleberry Above My Persimmon [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1607185
Comments: 7
Kudos: 27





	The Glittering Christmas Job

Eliot rolled on top of that firm mattress; his sore shoulder sank into that marvelously thick duvet. Silk sheets were too tempting. If Eliot didn’t keep his guard up he might be charmed into getting one bedding set just like this for his home. His phone kept ringing by his side. A curious fact since he hadn’t paid the international roaming fee deliberately. His head pounded from the alcohol consumed last night, but he extended his hand toward the device anyway.

“What?” Eliot asked with a groggy voice as he tried to sit on that big warm bed.

“Eliot, we have an emergency,” Hardison reported from the other side of the world.

“I’m on vacation,” Eliot protested, too drowsy to send Hardison to take a long walk on a short pier or to tell him that it wasn’t an emergency unless he and Parker were in danger.

“What part of an emergency is unclear, man?” Hardison insisted. Eliot registered the sound of Parker tossing her tools on a table. “This is time-sensitive and you’re already there, or at least, closer than we are!”

Eliot grumbled and messed up his hair. Those fluffy feather pillows behind him were pulling his head down like they had their own gravitational pull. He’d finally found a way to sit on the bed and he could see the wonderful winter wonderland from the twenty-second floor of the tallest building in Prague. The old medieval city was asleep under a blanket of white snow and the lights shone brightly over the red roofs.

“Hello, Eliot!” Parker screamed and Eliot had to take the phone away from his head.

“I’m on vacation,” Eliot repeated with a sigh once he could force himself to bring the phone to his ear again. 

“Yes, I know. I’m not deaf!” Hardison insisted with a thud of plastic slamming plastic. By the sound, Eliot knew Hardison wanted an excuse to upgrade his laptop. “Look, a sharp exchange student stopped answering his parents' calls. Nothing too strange in this season. The problem was his roommate was his childhood friend and he’d been sending videos to _his_ own parents.” Hardison kept reporting and producing noises of technology tossed into a bag. “Instead of staying in Bratislava as they should, they went to have a Christmas caper in Budapest!” 

Eliot groaned and pulled his legs closer to his belly to better let his head hang between his knees. He knew that the last _svařák_ cup was a bad idea.

“Two hours ago, the friend sent an SOS through a social network because they got in a kerfuffle with some Adidas tracksuits-decked, vodka-addled gentlemen and the son of our clients disappeared in the middle of it. Now, this rare specimen of human intelligence is poor as dirt. I’m talking Malheur county poor, Eliot!” The sound of a door slamming. “Molly Connell—remember Molly, bro?—was on his friendlist and the friend called me. Now, I’m calling you and if you can get the call and tell me you’re on vacation, then all I can say is I’m sorry, man. I’m sorry! I’m sorry to interrupt your first real vacation in six years. And I’m even more sorry I can’t stay on the phone to convince you otherwise because I have to catch a plane, wrangle Parker, and buy tickets for the parents in the busiest season of the year! I barely got tickets for _us_!” 

“But…” Eliot said to the empty line, turning a bit to his left to look at Quinn sleeping soundly with a hand under the pillows by his side. “I’m on vacation…”

The line was dead. Eliot scoffed, put his phone on the night table and pulled the blankets up to keep Quinn warm. Eliot being invited to Quinn’s home was such a huge step for their little fling. By now Eliot believed Prague was a fine city and showing it off made Quinn happy. For the last two days, they had been sharing Quinn’s bed in Quinn’s formal address and cooking breakfast in Quinn’s brand-new kitchen and wandering aimlessly through Quinn’s city. 

Last night they’d gone kind of wild on that Chrismas Market Quinn had talked about for over a month. Eliot would have been bored out of his mind by all the cookies and the drink and the trinkets if it weren’t for Quinn’s enthusiasm for Christmas, a joy so contagious that it rivaled Parker’s. They’d kissed under the colorful light and no one batted an eye. Quinn’s cold skin against his hand and the taste of mulled wine on his mouth almost made Eliot believe in magic.

They had made so many plans…

He could cuddle Quinn and forget about Hardison’s call, but such action carried a ton of weight. Central European mafias were dangerous; the stupid kid was in danger. Parker and Hardison were rushing to face people for whom violence was the answer to any question. Eliot had made a promise and he tried to be a man of his word. Eliot picked up the phone with regret painted on his face. 

“Send me the details,” Eliot texted Hardison, sure that they would have at least an hour to compile the relevant information. “I’m going to Buda.”

Eliot looked at Quinn and admired the panoramic view through the window until the first signs of daybreak showed. Then he got out of bed to brew some coffee in Quinn’s pristine kitchen. 

Bad news slid down better with a sip of coffee.

·͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Karaván was a tourist trap. Situated between two tall buildings, the alleyway offered all sorts of fast food for the club crowds and always attracted too many people. Josh Brooks wasn’t sure about following the instructions delivered to his phone, but they say they would recover Tommy if he gave them the story. The instructions were clear: Go to Karaván, pass all the food trucks and look for the man with the two cheese _lángos_ at the end of the alley. Josh had to look at what those were, but that was what Wikipedia was made for. 

People were swarming around the middle aisle, all the tables were full, but at the end area there was a little more elbow room, not too much, just enough. In one of the tables, a blond man in a dark suit was waiting. A pair of black leather gloves were neatly placed next to two plain cheese _lángos_ on their pieces of ragged paper. He looked up at Josh after taking an appraising look at his sneakers. With a nod, he dipped his hand inside his coat pocket and tossed a bright red candy over Josh’s head.

“Food first,” someone grumbled behind Josh. “ _Szaloncukor_ later.”

Josh turned around and saw a rugged man still holding the candy on his fist. A very scarred and scary fist. This new man wore jeans and a thick winter jacket and long hair. He passed next to Josh and sit by the other man.

“Sit down, Josh,” the new man said and tore a piece of _lángos_ off; the bread, cream, and cheese smelled amazing. 

For some reason, Josh was sure that wasn’t an invitation. He sat in one of the vacant chairs and looked at them in disbelief.

“So, the boy had a tail?” the man in the suit asked and followed his companion’s example.

“He did, Quinn,” the other man confirmed. He tore another piece of bread and wiped his fingers on the paper before looking for something inside his pockets. “They carried this and a couple of toys I put away for good.”

He put down a couple of battered wallets, at least three pocket knives and a very worn-out notebook. The man called Quinn used the gloves to transfer the knives and wallets into a leather briefcase that looked pretty expensive and dedicated his attention to the notebook.

“Wanna piece, Josh?” the other man offered, moving the _lángos_ so Josh could tear off a piece. Josh shook his head; food was not appealing at the moment. “I’m Eliot, he’s Quinn, and we want to get your friend to safety as soon as possible. Tell us what happened.”

Eliot didn’t wait for an answer and tore off another piece of his food. Quinn turned another page of the notebook; apparently, it was a pretty absorbent reading. After a couple of minutes, Eliot tore off a piece of Quinn’s food and offered it to his companion with a gruff ‘Eat!’. Quinn condescended to eat the piece and turned another page while munching.

“So?” Eliot insisted and looked at Josh. “It happened two nights ago if my timeline is right.”

Josh nodded and closed his eyes, regretting again having dragged Tommy into this harebrained adventure.

“We came because I won a couple of tickets for the Grand Budapest Bath Party from another student,” Josh said and his shoulders slumped. In fact, he had blackmailed their class partner when he caught him cheating on a test, but that detail wasn't important. “We just finished our last project and we wanted some fun.”

Eliot looked at Quinn; Quinn pinched the bread and smiled at Eliot.

“Historical place, partial nudity, electronic music, lots of alcohol.” Quinn brought the food to his mouth. “You would positively hate it.”

Eliot nodded and turned to Josh. Quinn put the food in his mouth and returned to the notebook.

“Then?” 

“We joined the party. Tommy… Well, he likes to be called Thomas, but I’ve known him since we were four. You don’t know him; he’s a total alpha jock,” Josh said and looked for his phone. He had some photos that could help them identify Tommy. He turned the screen to them. “He got his eyes on this young woman, Evike.”

Eliot and Quinn looked at the screen with studied serenity. Quinn looked at Eliot and smiled.

“What?” Eliot asked with a gruff bark.

“I know that face.”

“Good for you.” Eliot turned to Josh. “What then?”

“Thomas made an ass of himself.”

“The beer is good,” Quinn pointed out and returned to the notebook. 

“Some guys at the edge of the party took exception and a fight broke out.” Josh returned his phone to his pants. “I think I saw Tommy being dragged away by two guys wearing black tracksuits, but I had to duck to save my teeth. Thirty minutes later I couldn’t find the men or the chick or anyone who’d speak English to me.”

“Sweet.”

“I’ve been trying to reach Tommy’s phone since then, but after the first call they turned it off.”

“You tell your parents about this?”

“I was drunk,” Josh confessed and shook his head. “I posted on Insta while drunk and freaking out…”

“Good thing you did,” Eliot said and finished his _lángos_. “Do you think we have enough, Quinn?”

Quinn nodded and picked up his food, still reading the notebook with a distracted smile.

“We still have a couple of hours,” Eliot cleaned his hand with the paper and turned to Josh. “We’ll go for your things and Tommy’s and we’ll take you to…”

“ _Keleti pályaudvar_ ,” Quinn volunteered. 

“The Keleti railway station,” Eliot growled on top of Quinn’s suggestion. “You are going home on the Metropol EuroNight, Josh.”

“But I can’t go back without Tommy!”

“You did your part. Someone on your Insta saw your problem and called us,” Eliot got up and signaled Quinn to move. “Your parents will forgive you sooner for playing hooky if you’re safe. Come on.” 

Eliot plowed through the crowd and Josh followed him; a man with those fists was worth following. Quinn walked behind Josh, finishing his food. Eliot stopped for a second, looked between two stalls and nodded. Josh followed his eyes and noticed the two men in tracksuits propped against the wall. They looked drunk, but Josh was sure Eliot had knocked them cold.

Maybe it was a good idea to return to the Družba Dormitory after all.

·͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Eliot staggered when Parker slammed into him with a full-body hug. The crowd around them looked partially shocked and totally amused. 

It was a bad idea to get only a couple hours of sleep before taking the bus to pick up Hardison and Parker from the airport, but Eliot couldn’t help it: Quinn had left him on the door of their temporary safehouse and gone to brush up on his knowledge of Budapest criminals. Eliot spent the night looking at the bare wall and feeling like a beaten dog that couldn't understand the reason for its pain. 

Early in the morning, with a coffee in hand, Eliot rode the direct route to the airport in the blue bus with the number 100E and tried not to look too much like a tourist, but Parker jumping into his arms and Hardison hauling three big bags and wearing an ushanka hat made that particular task very hard.

“I missed you!” Parker screamed on Eliot’s ear. It was a good thing his ears were used to firearm discharges and IED explosions.

“I did too,” Eliot conceded and let her go. “Stop it!” 

Parker climbed down, still smiling from ear to ear. Hardison finally reached them and Eliot almost feel the need to snatch that hat from his head and stuff it in one of his bags. That hat was as sensible as a white hood in a Kwanza celebration…

“We need to go to the Great Market Hall first,” Eliot informed them as soon as he finished high-fiving Hardison.

Eliot didn’t want to give them time to think. He needed to take the lead because Quinn had been invaluable to set this whole job up and Eliot still had to find a way to tell them that they really needed the cavalry. Fortunately, the bus was packed and they didn’t have the time or the chance to make small talk. They got off the bus near Kálvin tér and Parker let out a cry of joy when she saw the old trams making a stop.

“Let’s ride it!” Parker exclaimed and pulled Hardison’s arm, making the hacker drop one of his bags.

“We have those at home!” Hardison protested.

“Go the other way!” Eliot grumbled and caught the bag before it could touch the ground. It was a good thing he had enough tickets. 

Parker minded him—a rare thing—and climbed in, dragging Hardison in her tow. Eliot got on and validated their tickets. It was better not to call attention to their presence, but it was difficult to be angry at the cost of the tickets, witnessing Parker’s joy. It was just two stops, but as long as his friends kept looking through the window at the gorgeous architecture, they wouldn’t have the time to ask any questions. 

They climbed down in front of the Great Market Hall. The building was impressive with its solid structure and art decó metalwork. Eliot pushed away the wave of guilt that was looming over his head and guided his friends through the glass doors and the high arches.

“Second floor,” Eliot informed as he hiked Hardison’s baggage up over his shoulder. It was better to rip the bandage off now. “Quinn found us an apartment; we can go there as soon as we finish here.”

“What?” Hardison asked, keeping the door open for Parker. 

“It’s Christmastime, Hardison!” Eliot grumbled and climbed up the metal stairs to the second floor in Parker’s wake. “All the hotels are booked up to top capacity!”

“I meant ‘what’s Quinn doing here?’, Eliot,” Hardison asked and looked around at the crowded place. Eliot could tell by the way Hardison’s hand shook that he was fighting the urge to lift his ever-present scarf.

Eliot closed his eyes just enough to remember how Quinn had stopped smiling when Eliot hit him with the news, gotten dressed in perfect silence, and made sure Eliot got the right train at Prague's main railway station. The lack of reproachful words worried Eliot until Quinn held his hand and wished Eliot a safe trip with a hint of regret in his voice. When the train departed from the station, Eliot was deep into that old question of too many promises. Then, out of the blue, Quinn brushed the seat, sat by his side and opened a journal like it was no big deal. 

“ _You can’t kick me off of the train, buddy_ ,” Quinn said after Eliot had watched him aghast for five long minutes. “ _I paid for my ticket and America isn’t the only bastion of freedom_.”

What was Eliot supposed to do? Particularly when they’d arrived in Budapest almost six hours later and all the signs were a letter soup with diacritical marks scattered about. 

“I found him on the train station,” Eliot replied and extended his hand to stop Parker before they lost her between the craft stalls filled to the brim with Christmas decorations. “He’s been a big help.”

“Who?” Parker asked with only half of her attention on Eliot.

Eliot gripped Parker's shoulder and made her turn around to face a food place with wood furniture and quaint and colorful plaid tablecloths. Quinn was there, hogging a whole table, sipping from a cup and looking at his watch. For the first time since Eliot had known him, Quinn looked slightly out of place. Parker immediately pouted.

“We need him, Parker,” Eliot mumbled and the dark wave of guilt bathed him. “We need him for the con.”

Parker looked at Eliot with angry eyes. For a second, Eliot thought that if stares could kill, Parker would be doing him a big favor. Then she made a beeline to the table with that stiff step she’d learned from Nate, Hardison followed her and Eliot, sighing under the weight of all of their baggage, followed them inside.

Quinn heard them before he could see them and, with a perfectly professional demeanor, offered them a place to sit in the table. Eliot stole a quick look from him, but Quinn looked at him with professional coldness and Eliot cursed under his breath, because that hurt almost as much as watching the joy vaporize from Parker’s face. Quinn shouted an order and smiled, ready to play his role.

“Tell us what you found, Quinn,” Hardison demanded, skipping the formalities as he set up his laptop. 

Eliot took a piece of paper where Quinn had scribbled a couple of names related to the case. Hardison did better when he was multitasking. The owner of the place put a couple of chocolate cups and a black coffee on the table.

“No.” Quinn stopped to fish a piece of apple from his _forralt bor_ with a spoon. “My help is Eliot’s Christmas gift, but you have to pay your share. Let's talk wages first.”

“What do you mean?” Hardison asked, tearing his eyes away from his screen. “Are you charging us for a job where you’re not even required?”

“By all means, if you don’t need me, please tell me so!” Quinn snapped back. “After I give you the information I picked up in one night, I can have a very merry holiday in Budapest.” Quinn looked at Parker and Hardison with a sly smile. “Please, set me free!” 

The table fell silent for a moment. Parker looked at Eliot and Eliot tried to shrug but his left shoulder refused to rise. Hardison touched Parker’s arm and demanded her attention. Parker turned around to see the screen as the restaurant owner put another mug in front of Quinn and filled Eliot’s cup with black coffee. All the results Hardison’s research spat out were in that strange language; their mark wasn’t too big to make it to the international pages.

“ _Mákos bejgli kérek_ ,” Quinn said as he passed the owner some colorful bills. He turned to his side and looked at Eliot. “You are going to love it.”

“What do you want?”

“Eliot.”

“What?!” Even Eliot joined the exclamation.

“I want you to respect Eliot’s holiday, dammit!”

Hardison and Parker darted Eliot a look and Eliot shot daggers at Quinn. Of course, there was a reason why Quinn had followed Eliot to Budapest.

“Eliot has a sprained ankle and a half-healed shoulder dislocation,” Quinn retorted and looked at Parker with a cocky side-eye. “And those were the most noticeable injuries anyone in our line of work would focus on to make it hurt. I bet under his clothes—”

Eliot choked on his coffee; no one paid him any attention but the shop owner who put down a dish of pastries and offered him a napkin. The pastry on the table was rolled and filled with thick stuff that looked like molasses and pricked Eliot’s curiosity.

“—he has even more noticeable damage. Eliot needs his holiday and you’d better keep his hitting schedule free until January 20th or I walk.”

“Hey!” Eliot exclaimed as he took a piece of the pastry. “I don’t need you to negotiate my workload!”

“You gotta be kidding me!” Hardison exclaimed. He was not used to being blackmailed.

“And yet you’re here, buddy!”

“You’ll be lucky if we don’t need him before the New Year!”

“Are you seriously arguing _against_ letting Eliot heal?” Quinn looked at them in disbelief as he took a piece of the pastry. “Wow. Brutal.”

The following strained silence didn’t hinder Parker who helped herself a piece of pastry. Hardison coughed and sipped his chocolate. Parker spat the pastry back out with a grimace.

“New Year’s,” Parker said, locking her gaze on Quinn.

“Epiphany, at the very least.”

Parker turned to Hardison. Eliot could read her confusion, but they were discussing his vacation without his input. With his ego still a bit singed by the whole situation, Eliot munched the warm pastry; to his chagrin, it was bittersweet, buttery, and very good. 

“January the 6th,” Hardison translated helpfully. “But I’ll try to honor Eliot’s original date.”

“January 10th, then.”

“That seems reasonable…”

“If you’ve finished haggling for me,” Eliot grumbled and brushed the crumbs off his jacket, “we have a college kid to bring home for Christmas. Spit it out, Quinn.”

“From the information Josh gave us and this,” Quinn stopped to toss the notebook to the table. Hardison was quick to pick it up. “I could gather Keșerü István was behind all this mess, which is very believable for him. Your client dared to hit on his beloved baby sister.”

“And how do you know that?” Parker asked leaning forward with her best stern cop look. Next to her, Hardison rolled his eyes and put the notebook on the table.

“Because there was a time when I hit on her too,” Quinn replied and smiled at Parker. “I had the most wonderful crush on Keșerü Evike when I was twelve or so.”

Eliot groaned at the new information. There was no reason for him to feel so angry at Quinn’s old flame, but he did. A very dark part of him hoped Quinn was properly thrashed when he was a kid for looking at that woman.

“In any case,” Quinn continued after he managed to control his smile, “we’re in luck because Evike is finally getting married. Your client and his friend crashed into a family party; that was not a public event. István is a big honcho in Hungarian politics now and he could afford that. Still a criminal through and through, but now he has a license and more money.”

“He wouldn’t kill an American citizen if that would hurt his career.” Parker summed up the implications in her usual, succinct way.

“And his sister gets married on the 28th,” Quinn agreed and finished his drink. “So I bet he’s keeping the boy safe in his big-ass Rózsadomb manor.”

“We have five days then.”

“We can do it earlier,” Quinn dared to disagree; by the width of his smile, Eliot knew Quinn had an aggravation to redress with this István guy. “Criminal families are trying to curry favor from Keșerü István and I have friends I can rally to make a hen party for Evike.”

The plan was evident to Eliot and he couldn’t believe the highly unforeseen circumstances that were happening to occur at the same time. Eliot got a nagging feeling in the back of his head that screamed that something wasn’t right, but Eliot was not a man to let an opportunity pass. 

“How is your spatchcock these days, Mr. Quinn?” Eliot smiled, knowing perfectly well where this was going.

“I can manage,” Quinn replied with that head tilt that Eliot always found alluring.

·͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Quinn gave them the code to open the security of their apartment building. Hardison nodded and he and Parker got up. Eliot stayed outside, ready to escort Quinn to the Metro station on Kálvin tér, hoping he could get a private word with him.

“Oh, I’m getting my own bodyguard today?” Quinn asked when Eliot didn’t turn his back once they got in sight of the Metro station.

“Nah, you are a big boy and can take care of yourself!”

“What is it then?”

“Don’t make me choose, Quinn,” Eliot warned in a low, threatening voice. “You wouldn’t like the reckoning.”

“Don’t worry, pal,” Quinn riposted with a small smile. “I know my place: we’re fooling around and having a good time. Nothing else. And it’s your fucking holiday! My door—and anything else appertaining to me—is open for you, but you’re free to return to America with them if you’re so inclined.” 

Eliot was bright enough to know he had to let that remark pass unchallenged. Quinn had been pestering him for months to put a name on this thing they’d been doing, and Eliot kept dodging the issue like the coward he really was.

“Now do me a favor and burn that atrocity your friend was wearing, would you?”

Eliot almost chuckled at that request; like all third culture kids, Quinn had a bit of a warped sense of belonging and that was part of his charm. Quinn’s passport might be American, but he was really a child of the Velvet Revolution.

“ _Že zrovna teď tě chci políbit_ ,” Eliot mumbled and buried his hands deep into his pockets to control the urge to touch Quinn. 

A gust of cold wind swept the plaza, dragging along the last dead leaves. If the weather wasn't so awful, Eliot probably would blush because he dared to say aloud the sentence he’d learned without a stitch of fabric on his body. The street lights couldn’t compete with the Reformed church’s shadow. Eliot didn’t resent Parker and Hardison, he didn’t bear animosity toward the stupid boy in trouble, but his brain was still geared for the sweet intimacy they’d been sharing these last days. It was hard to return to the professional setting. The phrase hung between them like a strange signal no one wanted to acknowledge; it was almost as bad as being back in DADT days. Quinn let out his breath in a dense cloud of white vapor and took a ticket out of his coat. 

“ _Já také_ ,” Quinn almost whispered before returning to his usually sardonic self. “Now, I need to find my friends, a place to take a sip of Zwack, and a more easily removable suit.”

“In that order?” Eliot asked as Quinn started to climb down the stairs of the metro.

“ _Bůh ví!_ ” Quinn exclaimed and got lost inside the modernized station that still bore the signs of Soviet brutalism.

Eliot felt a confused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Quinn always forgot that Eliot was quick to pick up some useful sentences, but he was far from proficient. Eliot was still sorting out his confusion when his training kicked in and he moved to the side. Parker rushed by him and followed Quinn at full speed. Eliot didn’t need to look at her closely to notice she was as mad as a wet hen.

Eliot let out his breath. He had no good choice here. He could follow Parker and then what? Argue about his affair with Quinn? Argue about the con? Mess up with Quinn’s plan which was economical and sort of elegant? Break their cover by getting police attention? His shoulders dropped as he turned his back to the Metro Station and let Quinn fight his way out of Parker’s wrath.

·͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

“Did you pay your fare?” Quinn exclaimed as soon as Parker took a seat by his side. Parker shook her head. “Tourist…”

“I’m a thief!” Parker exclaimed as if that was a perfectly reasonable excuse.

“And of the worst kind,” Quinn replied and crossed his leg.

“Why do you care?” 

Quinn raised both of his eyebrows as if he couldn’t believe she’d asked such a puerile question. The train stopped at a station and people ebbed and flowed like they usually do. Parker noticed these were mostly locals.

“So, I’m untrustworthy,” Quinn commented as soon as the doors closed. “I’m flattered.”

“I don’t like it when people mess with my cons,” Parker admitted because the insolence of this man was hard to bear. “Or with my friends.”

“Don’t worry,” Quinn replied and rummaged the deep inside pockets of his coat. “Eliot Spencer is safe. I learned at a young age to never give my heart to people too busy fixing the world.”

Parker struggled to make sense of the sentence. She closed her eyes and reminded herself that people were like safes and hitters were usually the hardest to crack. The sound of the cellophane made her open her eyes. Her eyes were drawn to the colorful paper and then to the rich gloss over the tempered chocolate. Quinn bit into the candy and held the other half out in his hand; the filling was a tempting mixture of nuts and caramel. Quinn’s face showed Parker that that was a candy worth trying.

“If you are going to come with me,” Quinn said and moved the candy away. Parker followed the candy with her eyes. “I’m going to need a favor from you…”

Quinn kept talking but Parker had little attention to pay him. The candy was interesting, probably something you could get in America too… 

“Parker?” Quinn made her snap back into reality. “Did you get the plan?”

“What?” Parker asked as soon as Quinn put the other half of the candy inside his mouth.

“Would you pinch all the valuables of the people around the table, please?”

“Pfff… Of course I would!”

“Good!” Quinn put the colorful wrapper inside his pocket. “This is our stop.”

Parker felt her phone vibrating inside her pocket as soon as she got up. There was a message from Hardison.

“Hey.” Parker walked by Quinn and showed him the screen; at the same time, her free hand slid inside Quinn’s pocket. “Hardison says we need a photo studio.”

“I know one,” Quinn assured her and speeded up his step. 

Parker let him get ahead. Her hand held a couple of the candies and she popped one into her mouth with a happy sigh.

Stolen candies were always the best.

·͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

The apartment Quinn had found for them was on the third floor of a turn-of-the-last-century building with modern security and utilities. Two bedrooms (one with a double bed and one with two singles), one bathroom, and a strange combo of kitchen and living room. More than enough for a quick rescue job. Hardison had set his remote control in the last.

Eliot had been quiet, with his hands on his legs since he returned from the metro station; years of knowing him told Hardison that Eliot was trying to meditate, so he kept the usual monologue to himself. Something was rattling in his hitter’s brain, but Hardison didn’t have time to prod Eliot. Quinn’s plan was both pretty wild and yet simple, but it was gonna need some deep fakes or last-minute fixes. Hardison was trying his hand at the deep fakes, using his computer at home remotely. Hungarian net was a pain to work with; Hardison wished he had had enough time to pack some more hardware. 

The light of the small fridge and the sudden gust of cool air distracted Hardison from the screen. Eliot was looking inside with a harried expression and, after a minute, he darted his hand in and extracted a can of beer. Then he noticed Hardison was looking at him.

“Yes, Hardison!” Eliot spat and forgot to open the beer can before Hardison could utter a syllable. “I’m fucking Quinn! I have been doing it for more than a year now!”

Hardison sat straight and looked at him in disbelief; he actually felt how his face twisted in a massive what-the-hell expression. Eliot groaned with his hand holding the fridge handle way too hard.

“And, no. I didn’t feel obligated to inform any of you about it!” Eliot declared slamming the fridge door. “It’s not like you two are too eager to drag me to bed and fuck me silly!”

Hardison cringed. He didn’t mean to, but he cringed at the idea of getting intimate with Eliot. He chalked it up to the phrasing, but either way, Eliot froze in place. After a couple of quick blinks, Eliot huffed and left the small kitchen with long strides in the direction to the bedroom with the double bed. Hardison passed his hand over his head, wondering how was he going to sort out this mess when Eliot returned, still riled up and shaking. The tab of his beer was still closed.

“And for your information, a lot of people would take that idea and run with it,” Eliot clarified with exaggerated arm swings. “And not only girls. Huh? Some dudes too! I know because I fucked them too!”

Eliot retreated again and slammed the door of the bedroom with the two individual beds. The shock was so strident that a little dog somewhere above started yapping loudly. Hardison blinked slowly, looking at the closed door in disbelief. Then the knob turned again and Eliot returned to the room with the beer can still in his hand.

“And yes!” Eliot exclaimed as the color rose to his face to highlight his frustration. “I’m thirty, not thirteen! I know I’m late for this whole questioning business!”

Hardison took his hands from the keyboard. Any attempt to work under the fallout of these revelations was futile. Eliot took that as a challenge, apparently.

“Dammit, Hardison! I was a quarterback and you know a quarterback is nothing if he’s not chasing skirts!” Eliot continued ranting without letting Hardison get a word in edgewise. “Then I was in the Army! And in the Army, you don’t ask and you don’t tell!”

Eliot folded his arms, still holding the beer in one hand. Hardison passed his hand by his forehead, almost shaking under the weight of the implications. Hardison was somewhat conversant with the SJW language—being a devout netizen does that to you—, and he theoretically understood the concept of internalized homophobia, but he’d never suspected Eliot had borne the brunt of it. Their hitter looked always so serene when he wasn’t having one of his rage fits. 

Hardison showed Eliot his hands, asking for a moment to process all the problem, but Eliot took that the wrong way also.

“And don’t get me started with the RPM and Moreau!” Eliot warned before unfolding them to keep flailing his arms. “The bunch of grunts could haze you, but those hired guns can kill you!”

Hardison looked at Eliot, still trying to understand the unfathomable hurt Eliot had tossed at him. Nothing in Hardison’s life had prepared him to deal with that and his face might have shown it because Eliot turned around and escaped through the main door and closed it with the expected slam. The little dog upstairs started its yapping again.

“Daaamm…” was all Hardison managed to mumble.

A splatter of liquid against the glass of the door almost made Hardison laugh out loud: guess Eliot tried to open the beer he’d been shaking like a maraca for the last three minutes. 

“Goddammit!” Eliot screamed at the other side of the door.

Hardison shook his head, picked up some paper towels and moved to the door. At least that was a problem he could fix. 

Outside their apartment, Eliot was standing with his arms outstretched, his face drenched in beer, and the most surprised expression Hardison had ever seen on his face. 

“For what it’s worth, Eliot,” Hardison said in a soft voice, offering Eliot a paper towel, “I was just going to ask if there was orange soda in the fridge…”

Eliot mopped his face and laughed without humor. Hardison smiled because that dry bark of laughter told him Eliot had found his center again. Hardison rested his weight on the forged rail that protected the corridor from the inner courtyard of the building.

“So…” He started with the most gentle voice he could muster. “You _have been_ bullied…”

“I wish I had been bullied,” Eliot mumbled and finally took a sip from his beer. “That would have given me the opening I needed to ask questions. I folded... just fell neatly into the place where they wanted me to be.” Eliot took a deep breath and another sip of his beer. “I got used to feeling guilty whenever I thought... I let another man touch me. Shame was the price to pay for a brief moment of joy, and I paid it…”

Hardison wanted to make a joke, to poke Eliot’s ribs a bit to lighten the mood, but that was patently a bad idea. Eliot was still shaking with frustration.

“I don’t want to pay any more,” Eliot said and finished his beer. He crushed the can and let it fall between his feet.

“What happened?” Hardison asked and crossed his arms, feeling a smile brewing in his face.

“I kissed Quinn under the Christmas lights,” Eliot said, resting his arms on the forged rail next to Hardison as if he were seeking refuge. “I kissed him and I felt no shame, no guilt. The world was perfect and at peace at that moment…”

There was no way to deny Eliot had a big case of the feels… Hardison rested his hand on Eliot’s shoulder; his friend just needed a bit of time to sort out his headspace. He also made a mental note to look for an easily bribed photo studio because there was no way he could cook deep fakes and be there for Eliot at the same time. 

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“For a geek, you are very useful,” Quinn praised before texting his friends the fake personal page Hardison had put together in less time than Quinn had spent taking the stage glitter off his skin. “Can I keep the photos?”

They were setting up the last details of the job after a dinner of cold cuts and sausages. Everything material had been bought, all the social engineering was in place, yet Parker seemed restless; she kept moving to the door.

“I don’t know, man…” Hardison mumbled opening the bottle of the only orange soda Eliot could find. That Bambi brand didn’t look healthy, but Hardison needed his sucrose. “I’m never in the mood to make gifts for people who extort me.”

“Fair.” Quinn shrugged and moved to the couch to sit by Eliot. “Your boy here is a helluva photographer, pal. He made me look like a prize cut of prime rib!”

“Please don’t use that word,” Eliot said scrounging his face in an embarrassed grimace.

“Your boy is a pretty good photographer, then!”

Eliot made an exasperated sound and facepalmed hard. Quinn put his hand on Eliot’s shoulder and Eliot shook it off. Parker stopped her third trip to the door, where Quinn’s coat was hanging, to look at them.

“Don’t call Hardison a boy, he’s a man!” Eliot groaned and got up. “And he’s not mine. It’s offensive, like calling you a bohunk!”

“That you are going to call your mother, pal!”

“Now you see why you need to apologize!” Eliot suddenly turned to Hardison on his way to the room with the two individual beds, “And you should get rid of that fake fur hat! It’s not funny to run around the city looking like a member of the Soviet Gestapo!”

The door slammed behind Eliot’s back, the yapping of the little dog two stories above followed the noise. Parker approached carefully as Quinn and Hardison stood up from their places. Quinn felt like he couldn’t do anything right on this trip and the urge of cursing aloud almost overwhelmed him. Then, Hardison did something strange: he approached him willingly and extended his hand.

“This has been too hard for Eliot,” Hardison said and his voice sounded more grave than usual. “Truce?”

Quinn looked at that hand and thought hard about those words. Quinn noticed he had no rancor toward them; he was doing the same thing. It was not fair to squeeze Eliot between two rocks.

“Truce,” Quinn said as he closed his hand over Hardison’s. “Sorry if I’ve been insensitive.”

“Hard same, dude,” Hardison slapped Quinn on the biceps and Quinn had to try hard to rein in his training, which was screaming at him to knock Hardison’s teeth in.

“Awww!” Parker exclaimed hugging them both with the same movement. “You’re adorable!”

Quinn locked his arms in, exactly the same he would have done if anyone had tackled him. It was a reflex and he forced his body to behave. Then, when Quinn could move his attention outside, he noticed the smear of chocolate on Parker’s lips and how she loudly she was chewing. Like she had toffee stuck to her teeth.

“Are you eating my candy, Parker?” Quinn asked and took a step back.

Parker was still hanging from Hardison’s neck, but she had the good sense of keeping her mouth shut to hide the evidence. 

“Truce?” Parker extended her hand after a while. Probably because she’d finished eating.

Quinn was willing to go to great lengths for Eliot Spencer, but not that far. Without a word, Quinn turned around, picked up his coat and walked to the room he shared with Eliot, without hurry and without a word. If he stood there, his good sense would run short very quickly.

The room was dark, but the light pouring through the window that overlooked the inner courtyard was enough. He undressed quickly and stood next to Eliot’s recumbent form. Eliot wasn’t sleeping, Quinn could tell by how measured his breathing was, but it didn’t seem right to ask Eliot to scoot over. This was a job, after all; they must remain professional.

Quinn sat down on the other bed and looked at Eliot. It had been only two nights, but Quinn missed how neatly that scarred body fit into his arms, the aroma of that skin when it was clean, and the shiver running down his spine when his fingers ran through that long hair. All those memories that had kept their relationship going rushed through Quinn’s mind, all the more precious because of how fragile they were. His heart trembled at the threat of having lost all of that forever. Quinn pulled the duvet back and laid down in that cold bed, refusing to remember that two nights ago the bed was a lot warmer; refusing to think a cold, empty bed was the only thing in his future.

Regret was a very uncomfortable bedfellow, but Quinn rolled toward the wall, closed his eyes and did his best to fall asleep.

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Early in the morning the catering service sent a squad of workers to put a new wood deck over the massive cobblestone courtyard to fit the fifty tables of guests for the wedding. They also busied themselves with options to place a huge canopy in case the weather refused to cooperate with the celebration. That added to the chaotic coming and going of visitors. Thirteen men got in, and twelve left by five in the afternoon, but everybody was so tired of their noise that no one kept track.

Eliot Spencer was trained to endure the long waits. He found a spot near the back entrance, pulled up the hood of his jacket to protect his head from the mist, and settled down to wait. 

A new vehicle arrived around two hours later, once the light had faded over the horizon. Eliot looked as two people climbed down. They were greeted by a stunningly beautiful woman dressed in the latest fashions. 

“Ántal!” she cried out in evident delight. Eliot doubted that was a Christmas greeting, but they were too far for Eliot to make sense of what they were talking about.

The two new people went inside, the shorter one was carrying a toolbox and a cardboard tube. It shouldn’t be long now...

It ended up being quite long, from the amount of snow weighing in over his hood, but he waited in place. His mind was both focused and distracted. He could hear the electric fence cracking and the snow falling from the branches, but his mind was miles away. Eliot used to spend this time meditating, but all he could think of was Quinn and all of those thwarted plans of spending Christmas Eve in Quinn’s apartment. Quinn would pick the wine, Eliot would fry the carp and make that potato salad that seemed so important for Quinn. Eliot could almost see those short wine cups with the stars cut out through the red and silver paint resting on Quinn’s dinner table…

The cups Quinn had bought at Prague’s Christmas Market because Eliot looked at them for a long time.

“I'm not fooling myself, Eliot. This could end tomorrow,” Quinn had said, tempting fate in the most foolhardy way, “but this? I can always keep this and the memory of your face when you looked at this. _This_ is mine.”

His hands had held those cups against his coat as if he were afraid Eliot would take them and Eliot wanted to tell him those words that had been rattling in his mind for months now… Eliot had mumbled ‘Geeez’ and cupped his hand around Quinn’s face. Quinn had leaned into the caress, his eyes fixed on Eliot. The Christmas lights danced on his eyes…

“Eliot!” Parker called with her right arm raised above her head. 

Eliot didn’t answer, he just got up. That kiss, one of the many Eliot Spencer had given in his life, that was his and it should be enough to keep him going for now on. He could give Parker and Hardison everything else, but that? That was _his_. 

Parker went inside and Eliot slipped in behind her. The house was huge and so full of shiny stuff that Eliot almost groaned at the wastefulness. Parker tugged his hand to catch his attention and Eliot followed her lead. Parker soon stopped and pointed at a flight of stairs; Eliot looked upward and Parker nodded. Their target was upstairs.

They walked a little more through the small corridors from the back of the house until they reached the place where they put Quinn’s stuff. The hallway was very bright and from their point of view, they could see the pole Parker had installed. Eliot knew she'd done a pretty good job because Quinn, wearing only short shorts and a tank top was already working on it.

Eliot stopped in his tracks to watch how Quinn changed from a shoulder mount to a leg hang. Quinn extended his leg and held his entire weight on his knee. Eliot felt his head start to tilt when Quinn bent his leg back to hold it with his hands.

“Wow,” Parker whispered in awe. “I have to tell him to teach me that…”

Eliot looked at her and noticed her head was tilted also. Eliot scoffed and pushed her slightly to remind her that they need to move. Parker let Eliot into the room where Quinn had his gear.

“Walk me through the plan,” Eliot mumbled as soon as Parker closed the door behind them.

“We wait for Quinn to get to the strip tease part of the routine,” Parker explained and looked inside Quinn’s coat to retrieve a file folder, “then you go upstairs and free Tommy. Quinn said he was either in the attic or in one of the guest rooms.”

“The trail of muscle will lead me there.”

“Meanwhile, I’ll find the safe and swap these,” Parker said raising the files, “for the deeds Quinn’s friends want for their little legal dispute. We’ll meet back up at the same door where you came in.” 

Eliot nodded and crossed his arms.

“You’ll hand me the boy, and I’ll give you the deeds. I’ll drive the kid out in the rental; you run for the forest.” Parker paused to free a piece of candy from its colorful wrapper. “You let the distraction in and move to the train station…”

Eliot snatched the candy before Parker could pop it in her mouth. Parker let out an offended exclamation but that didn’t stop Eliot: Quinn loved those seasonal candies better than he loved him.

“Stop stealing his candy!” Eliot noticed how he had crushed the fragile thing, but that didn’t stop him. “You want some, I can buy you a pound on the way to the train station!”

“It’s not the same!”

“Leave! Quinn’s! Things! Alone!”

Parker rolled her eyes and went to the door. Before she went out, she turned around and stuck out her tongue to Eliot. Eliot sighed, wondering if he had been too impatient with Parker’s little habits. He found a wet napkin and cleaned the spoiled candy from his hand.

“Is there any reason why your friend is shooting daggers with her eyes at me?” Quinn asked as he entered the room with a towel around his shoulders.

“It’s just Parker…” Eliot dismissed the issue and looked for a place to sit by the door. Out of habit, Eliot shot the bolt.

“Would you like to share with me why you’re such a ball of sunshine right now?”

“I’m trying to figure out what to feel when you’re about to show your taint to a room full of mafia women and corrupt politician’s wives.” Eliot crossed his arms and tried to shrug. “I’m just sayin’.”

“Be grateful you saw it first!” 

A wet piece of fabric slapped Eliot on the face. It took him a while to identify them as Quinn’s training shorts. Eliot hid his face on it for a moment to allow Quinn his privacy. By the time he peeled it off, Quinn had his back turned and had slipped into those leather shorts he’d bought for the show. Eliot let his eyes assay how well the garment was filled.

“I’m sorry.” Eliot said the words like he was trying to spit out glass. His hands were clutching Quinn’s shorts too hard; his knuckles hurt. “It was such a stupid thing to get upset about.”

Quinn turned around to look for that glittering makeup Eliot always called stripper dust. This wasn’t the first time Quinn had toyed with that, by the way he looked at his reflection in the mirror. Eliot noticed Quinn had kept his eyes on him all the time after a while.

“You’re not talking about my taint now,” Quinn asked with a small voice, applying glittering makeup on his chest. “Are you, pal?”

“Pick anything at all of the last two days and it still applies.”

“Don’t worry,” Quinn toyed with the wedge sponge on his hand. “I know I’ve been a brat…”

“A diplobrat, if I guessed it correctly,” Eliot teased, invading Quinn’s space from behind with his heart pumping hard. “I like you that way…” 

“Careful, pal,” Quinn warned, trying to keep Eliot at a safe distance. “You’re going to mess with my shine.”

“Give me ten minutes,” Eliot asked and exchanged the shorts for the wedge sponge from Quinn’s hand, “I'll take care of your shine.”

Quinn didn’t resist when Eliot kissed him and definitely purred when Eliot, with the sponge still in his hand, pulled down the zipper of the performance shorts.

·͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

The stage was set in an almost century-old conservatory close to the kitchen; the view of the forest behind the house was breathtaking. The room held almost thirty people, and most of them were men, to Parker’s surprise. All the entrances, except for the one that led to the small nook room that served as a changing room for Quinn, were guarded either by men with the same fancy clothes as their pinch hitter or those horrible black Adidas tracksuits. In the center of the room, twelve women sat around small tables, all wearing stiletto heels and fancy clothes. Parker was sure she could get a good half-million if she was here to pinch all that jewelry.

Quinn had been talking to them for the last five minutes over a stream of quiet music; all the women were smiling at him. Very casually, Quinn had been losing his tie, taking off his cufflinks, smiling all the time. Even the man in the back laughed during some of the unintelligible patter Quinn was spouting to them.

The music changed to a more upbeat song and Quinn turned his back to his public and rolled his shoulders to the rhythm of the music. Parker didn’t get why the women were cheering until Quinn began to toy with his coat and his shoulders. The tie hanging from his neck was a lot more interesting for Parker than the coat trick, but the women in the room were raving about it.

Parker sauntered to the room to let Eliot out as soon as Quinn’s coat touched the floor. Eliot exchanged a look with her and beelined upstairs. Eliot’s professional stance reassured Parker and she made her way to the studio in front of the house with a wide smile.

The studio was a big monstrosity crowded with sculptures, paintings, heavy furniture, and fake books. Parker looked around wide-eyed because, in spite of the heaps of stuff, it was decorated like Santa’s village. She almost couldn’t stop jumping in place and clapping without sound. Such a jolly place to commit a robbery!

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Quinn knew he was in trouble the first time his ankle slipped over the pole when he tried to hook it. He could save the move, making it a little wider than his instructor might have liked; the audience didn’t mind. 

There was a reason the makeup had to be applied with precision and Quinn had left that vital detail to Eliot. Everything came easy to Eliot, there was no way he could mess up this, but apparently he had.

His back rolled over the pole, imparting more speed into the movement. Quinn felt the pull on the small of his back; he compensated to avoid an injury and he almost lost his grip.

“ _Kurva, Eliota_!” Quinn swore between clenched teeth and pulled himself into an unsteady flag. 

This had been the worst performance of his career. A career that had taken in some powerful industrial moguls and not a few politicians. There was only one way to fix this mess. Quinn used his core muscles to hoist himself up, trying to gain purchase with the inside of his knee.

He slipped again and thought he was going to break his neck, and not in a good way!

Desperately, feeling like he was falling to certain death, he tried several combinations with more speed than was safe. He closed his eyes; death was preferable to ridicule right now…

Then, Quinn felt his knees on a solid surface, his butt was sliding down the pole and both of his very sweaty hands were gripping the metal like it was the only steady point in the universe. Quinn opened his eyes, the stars were so bright over his head... 

·͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Hardison had been watching the conservatory’s performance through the two different cameras. Quinn had moves, no one with eyes could deny that. That last acrobatic series of drops was a thing of beauty, half gymnastics and half dance. Right now, Quinn was holding the pose, and a good part of the ladies had their phone out, snapping pictures for sure. 

“How are you doing, mama?” Hardison asked after taking the precaution to mute Quinn’s channel, sure the guests were having the time of their lives.

“Ow, this poor little thing didn’t have a chance…” Parker whispered between the sound of gears clicking and the sound of her chewing something. “The Christmas tree here is full of candies! Do you think I’ll have time to strip it too?”

Hardison chuckled, looked at the screen—Quinn was back on his feet, dancing for the ladies— and his eyes wandered to the comms screen. Eliot’s channel had been very quiet for a while

“Eliot,” Hardison called out. “Hey, Eliot!”

“I think I came…” Eliot mumbled with a weak voice.

“Chill out, Romeo,” Hardison taunted with good-natured spirit, “I’m recording the performance. Merry Christmas to you!”

Parker made a funny sound in the comms, like she was trying to suppress a burst of laughter. Eliot’s growl followed Parker without missing a beat.

“Dammit, Hardison!”

“I said ‘Merry Christmas’, man!” Hardison insisted, this time with a little more of malice. “It’s my gift to you, and I must say—I must say!—that I can’t think of a gift you ever wanted more,” Hardison added looking at the screen. Quinn was making his move to offer the bride-to-be a last lapdance, so Hardison opened all channels. “Now go for the target!”

·͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Eliot had stopped on the second flight of stairs to look through the window. Quinn was repeating the shoulder mount he had been rehearsing when Parker brought him inside. After that, Eliot kind of lost track of everything because Quinn was flying around that pole. Eliot was not a man of fantasy, but competence always caught his eyes and this time, with this man, it was not his mind that competence roused. 

“I think I came…” Eliot mumbled with a weak voice when his eyes finished devouring they way Quinn’s chest flailed after the last movement.

“ _Chill out, Romeo_ ,” Hardison’s voice almost screamed in his ear, “ _I’m recording the performance. Merry Christmas to you!_ ”

“Dammit, Hardison!” Eliot hissed and turned to the stairs. There were steps over his head, in the opposite direction of the conservatory.

Hardison was still gabbing in his ear, but Eliot ignored him. Four men were around the corner; he needed to be swift with this one. Eliot snatched the one closest to the stairs with an arm around his neck. The man babbled something in Hungarian, but the music was too loud for anyone to hear him. One down, three to go.

After a couple of minutes, the other two started to wonder where their friend had gone. Eliot let the first one pass in front of the stairwell but slammed the second one against the wall with all his weight. Two down, two to go. 

Pain flared up from his shoulder making him groan. An ill-fated groan, because it alerted the first guy. Eliot watched him take out a folding knife and waited until he lunged forward. Eliot moved to the side, twisted the man’s wrist, and used his other arm to crush his opponent’s solar plexus. Three down, one to go.

The fourth one was nowhere to be seen. Eliot walked to the nearest door and put his hand on the knob. The door flew open before Eliot could turn the knob. Eliot drove his left fist forward to knock out of habit, but the man was waiting for him and held it against the door frame.

“Oh, shiny!” the man commented, looking at Eliot’s fist. 

“It’s the glitter!” Eliot nodded before driving his right fist straight to his opponent’s chin.

This time the blow found its target and the man staggered back. Eliot stepped in as the man wiped a bit of blood from the corner of his mouth. With a small shake of the head, Eliot watched the man assuming a classical boxing stance. The man made a signal to come at him and Eliot rolled his eyes: Knowing was half the battle; the other half was violence of action.

On the knowing department, Eliot knew he should sidekick the load-bearing leg; on the violence of action, all he had to do was to drive his leg up. The man fell forward and gravity did the rest. For a good measure, Eliot kicked him once the man had knocked himself out against his knee.

Only then Eliot did notice the scared boy hemmed up in one corner of the room. He was a bit roughed up, but his captors had dressed him warmly and next to the bed was an empty bowl still stained with soup.

“Thomas Bayley?” Eliot asked, rubbing his hands to difuminate the glitter. The boy nodded slightly. “Come on, man!”

Eliot shrugged and repeated his invitation with a gesture. The boy recoiled like he was trying to fuse his body with the wall.

“Do you want to stay here?” Eliot shrugged again and winced at the sharp pain that flared from his shoulder. That shoulder was demanding something hot which didn’t improve Eliot’s humor. “Fine by me! I’m going to Bratislava without you…”

Eliot turned around and he could hear the terrified boy rushing to follow him. 

·͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

They converged on Keleti railway station. Parker and the boy, with Hardison’s GPS as a guide, were there first and were busy finishing a couple of _kürtőskalács_. Eliot found Hardison in the Metro, hauling the bags. Quinn, freshly showered and without glitter, climbed down from a luxury town car at the metro station. Eliot was climbing up the stairs in time to see him kiss her and hand her an almost empty wine glass

“ _Viszontlátásra, Ántal_ ,” she said still blowing kisses through the open window.

Eliot made indistinct noises to mock her intonations. Hardison let out a bray of laughter and moved to meet Parker. Eliot appreciated this modicum of privacy.

“I can get used to you being jealous,” Quinn replied, rummaging in the gym bag. “One nail drives out another, and Agota cured me of my Evike fascination. She took my virginity too.”

“As a payment?” Eliot asked with a small rise of his eyebrow.

Quinn fished out those little leather shorts with an exclamation of joy. Eliot knew Quinn was avoiding the question, but it was fine. Quinn had a right to keep his secrets safe.

“These are mine,” Quinn replied stuffing them on his coat’s pocket. Eliot knew he had advanced another inch into Quinn's affections. “Do you have the tickets?”

Eliot patted the front pocket of his jacket; Quinn’s friend had provided them an escape route and a diversion party of teenagers trashing a party in exchange for the documents Parker had stolen. Quinn turned to the station and, on his way there, he tossed the gym bag into the trash.

·͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

“Hey,” Parker exclaimed happily as she stood behind Eliot. Hardison, Quinn, and the boy were soundly sleeping in the six-bed couchette they shared. Eliot was still awake and Parker had gone to look for him.

“Hey,” Eliot replied and took his head from the glass.

“What’s so interesting outside?” Parker asked and cupped her hands around her face, trying to peer through the dark window.

“Nothing,” Eliot rested his weight against the panel and let his body rock with the movement of the train. “I was looking inwards.”

Parker shook her head and tilted her head to look at Eliot. Eliot looked so tired and so sad… Parker had to fight the itch to make him angry, because an angry, ranting Eliot was a happy Eliot, but something warned her this was not the best time to push that particular button.

“You were thinking,” Parker mumbled because sometimes Eliot liked better to take the long road. “You were thinking about Quinn.”

“I was thinking I should return to Portland with you…” Eliot closed his eyes and rested his head against the panel. “Go back home once we return the boy to his parents.”

Her hands flew in front of her almost without her will. Parker felt like clapping out of joy, but she noticed it was not a joyful thought for Eliot. His hands were balled by his sides, his tummy was almost flat, and his nostrils were wide open. Eliot was making an effort.

“You don’t _have_ to,” Parker said and made sure to add the proper emphasis. Hardison wouldn’t approve her use of air quotes in this situation.

“I do. I made a promise to keep you safe,” Eliot made a pause and brushed the hair from his face. “Hardison and you are the most important people to me.”

“Eliot, you don't have to, not if you…” Parker hesitated for a moment. Maybe she was presuming too much, but raking was the first technique every lockpicker learn. “It’s ok to stay if you love Quinn.”

“I don’t love Quinn, Parker!” Eliot reacted like Parker had poked his side. “I love you, and Hardison too. I… _fancy_ Quinn.”

Parker tilted her head trying to guess what difference the word meant. Eliot relaxed a bit, and his shoulders dropped.

“I need you and Hardison; I want Quinn.”

That was perfectly clear, Parker had heard that a lot when she was a kid. Her foster parents always told her that she needed food, she didn't need a portable power drill; but the portable power drill was too much fun! And Parker would do whatever was necessary to get her fun in her own terms. This is what Eliot did for fun...

“Quinn is a power drill!” 

Eliot squinted and his lips twisted as if she’d just popped a sour candy into his mouth. His hands raised in utter confusion before he scoffed. Eliot was getting mad and Parker wondered why.

“He gets me!” Eliot clarified making a wide gesture. “Quinn’s a hitter, he understands what it means to take a pounding…” Eliot made another face and corrected himself before Parker could start to understand his words. “Well, not a _pounding_ , but a pounding… eh...” Eliot let his eyes wander sideways as if he were reconsidering his own train of thought. “My point is: we do the same job, we get beat up and we travel a lot! He knows we don’t have too much time to spend together, maybe four times a year. We can’t go steady.”

“Like when you flirt with all the reception desk girls?”

“Yes, but different!”

“Like Aimee!”

Eliot stopped. He was deer-on-the-highlights still. Then he slowly let his head hung.

“Like Aimee,” Eliot finally said in a low, hollow voice, “but different.”

Eliot sighed and squatted down. The train rocked him and Parker sensed something was not right. Eliot was holding his hands really tight; he was hurting. Parker crouched down and waited because people were like safes: infuriating and confusing. Eliot was a lovely vintage strongbox, heavy, solid, with wonderful, made-to-measure, unique custom-made locks. You couldn’t just smash into such a piece and hope you wouldn’t damage anything.

“Quinn gets me, Parker,” Eliot mumbled after a while. “He makes my pretzels worth sharing, but I’m coming home to you and Hardison because you made my life worth living…”

Parker sat by his side, letting the train rock her against Eliot’s tense body. She might be quiet and still, but her mastermind had kicked into gear. There should be a way to give Eliot everything he needed and everything he wanted.

·͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

They arrived at _Bratislava hlavná stanica_ with only twenty minutes to reach the meeting point. Eliot had packed Hardison’s technology and baggage way more compactly than his friend could and it fit snugly into one bag. Parker had her backpack and Quinn his briefcase. Eliot was empty-handed as usual. As they were more mobile, they crossed the hall at a quick step and Quinn took the lead again because he knew the lay of the land. 

“Go to the stop and wait for the N95,” Quinn said before rushing to the ticket machines with long strides.

“But my app says N44!” Hardison dared to argue as he took out the overhead cost card.

“This one is quicker!”

“He’s not a team player,” Eliot explained to Thomas before snatching the card from Hardison’s hand and following Quinn’s wake with his usual military trot.

“I bet he knows Slovakian too…” Hardison grumbled but moved to the bus stop because easing their way was what they were paying Quinn to do.

“He’s right,” Thomas confirmed with a small voice and Parker mussed his hair.

They waited to see Eliot and Quinn board the bus. They found a seat and kept their silence for three stops. Parker was adamant about handing the boy back to his parents under the Christmas tree, despite being this the city Thomas knew better. Eliot and Quinn, as soon as they put a foot on the street, flanked their mark and kept the young man within arm’s range.

Their little party soon mixed with the people roaming the Christmas market. Hardison did his best to not lost Parker in the middle of the festivities; Eliot chuckled at Hardison and he almost missed Quinn when they crossed in front of a cookie stall. Wading through the locals and tourists was almost an adventure itself.

They were late, so they hung around the Christmas tree. Thomas kept getting on the tips of his toes to peer over the crowd and Parker and Hardison started to take that little walk restless people take when things weren’t moving. Eliot crossed his arms and tried to filter out the noise when he noticed he knew that voice singing Christmas carols. 

“I hate you,” Eliot groaned, completely annoyed by this whole Christmas business, as he turned toward Quinn.

“I love you,” Quinn replied with a wide smile and a cheeky tilt of the head.

Eliot froze in place and his mouth opened with a dismayed expression of surprise.

“Mom!” Thomas called out and moved between them, “Dad! I’m here!”

Parker and Hardison heeded the cry and moved to meet his parents. Parker delivered the alternative revenue speech without a hitch and Hardison waved away all the shows of gratitude and smiled the whole time. This was always one of the most rewarding parts of the job.

“Did Eliot make his daring escape?” Parker asked, resting her cheek against Hardison’s padded jacket as the once-again-happy family walked away.

“Of course he did, mama,” Hardison confirmed, resting his chin on Parker’s head and looked at the empty space where Quinn and Eliot stood a minute ago. “Did you throw him a bone?”

“I made him promise he’d ship me a box of sweets for every day he is away,” Parker explained and turned her head towards him. Her smile was the sweetest treat in the whole Christmas Market. “That took the guilt away.”

“Clever girl,” Hardison praised and bent his neck to kiss her. 

Parker was slow to take the hint but when she did, she was as exuberant as ever: She almost jumped into his arms and kissed him first. Parker hooked one arm around Hardison’s neck and the other, out of habit, tried to caress his head. This time she managed to knock over the watch cap Eliot had loaned him, but he couldn’t be bothered by that little detail.

Eliot was really into something with those kisses under the Christmas lights.

·͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Eliot opened his mouth and let Quinn push the meat inside. It was warm and it almost didn’t fit inside, but Eliot bit down and the mustard flavor hit his mouth. The meat crumbled inside his mouth, filling it with oil, garlic, and paprika taste. He couldn’t help the happy, contented sound that came from his mouth as he munched the food.

“You were right,” Eliot admitted, cleaning a smear of condiment from the corner of his mouth. He had learned that, if he was not quick enough, Quinn would try to wipe it himself. “Each town has its own flavor!” 

Quinn nodded and took a bite. They were sharing a barrel-turned-table in Stará Tržnica, one of the markets of Bratislava, and eating the food from one of the stalls. Eliot passed his tongue over his teeth and surveyed the crowd out of habit. Crowds were dangerous, most of the time, but this time it was made only of happy families choosing what to eat and young people roaming about. Nothing set off Eliot's survival instincts so far.

“For a moment, I thought you would leave,” Quinn said after he gulped down his bite.

“I promised to spend Christmas with you, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did.” Quinn approached Eliot to fix that warm scarf he had bought because Eliot was underdressed in his opinion. “I wasn’t holding my breath though…”

The sly smile on his face was alluring and Eliot leaned in. Suddenly, Eliot felt his throat closing and froze in place. The moment was not right. With the heart rising inside his chest, Eliot surveyed the place and noticed a couple standing behind Quinn looking at them. Eliot’s hands got clammy in a heartbeat and his brain started to wander out of control. 

“Since we are here we should get Parker some cookies…” Eliot sputtered before he could think of a way to escape those judging stares. He really needed to find a way to control his hangups.

“No,” Quinn rejected the idea immediately and pulled away. “She stole all the _szaloncukrok_ from my coat!”

“You shipped three boxes to your apartment.”

“It was a rude thing to do,” Quinn insisted and bit into his _klobása_ again. He was so incensed that he talked with his mouth full. “Even if I’m well stocked.”

“Nothing I can do about it,” Eliot said and pick up his _oškvarkové pagáče_. The melting cheese and hot pork rinds inside flaky bread was the kind of food his body craved after a job. The dark, rich beer helped it go down. Eliot could almost felt how it stuck to his ribs, but the gym was a worry for next year. “So, this is the last day for Christmas markets…”

“You wish!” Quinn stopped to sip his _varéne vinó_. “In my corner of the world, pal, Christmas starts with Mikuláš and ends with the Magi!”

Eliot groaned and lift his beer stein to cover for his smile. He couldn’t wait to wander all the Christmas markets, taste all the local dishes, try all the mulled wine next to Quinn, and to kiss his impudent mouth under the Christmas lights again.

**Author's Note:**

> Rhi, S., and theArcher provide beta readings, corrections, and cheerleading. This fic would never be posted without their help.


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